


Fitzwilliam Darcy, Charles Bingley.

by GraceEliz



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Gen, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Reclaiming Platonic Affection from the pits of toxic masculinity, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:48:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23295751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraceEliz/pseuds/GraceEliz
Summary: Everyone got a Name on their wrist, usually their dominant hand, and that the Name was that of whoever would be their best friend, and some people believed it was the person destined to save you, or whoever would affect your life most, but that most people in England believed the Name was if your romantic soulmate. Georgiana had scoffed at the idea of marrying someone simply because they had your Name. She was convinced that her brother’s Name was of his best friend. Tracing where he knew the loop of the y to swing, Darcy reflected that a friend would be a good thing to have. A best friend would be worth over a dozen close acquaintances, worth beyond their weight in gold.
Relationships: Charles Bingley & Fitzwilliam Darcy, Fitzwilliam Darcy & Georgiana Darcy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Fitzwilliam Darcy, Charles Bingley.

**Author's Note:**

> Platonic  
> Soft  
> Affectionate  
> Soulmates

He wasn’t sure what had awoken him in the deep pitch of whatever ungodly hour it happened to be, but something caused Fitzwilliam Darcy to startle into immediate awareness in the dead of night. Thunder rolled and echoed around the edges of the great Pemberley house like waves around a boulder. Darcy sat silently in his bed knowing that if he just waited, patiently, without getting irritated, whatever had awoken him would either leave him to return to slumber or reveal itself. True to form, after a few minutes – there, the doorknob shakily lowered and the door swung open. Darcy sighed. Another bad night then. “Georgia?” he asked the trembling child on the threshold, “Georgia, what’s wrong?”

“William? Will, can I get in with you?” Georgia’s voice trembled more than her body did, shakier than a newborn colt, than the quivering trees outside. He gestured her over. The young girl tottered a little but took no steps nearer the warm sanctuary of her brother’s bed. Darcy frowned a little deeper.   
“The thunder awoke me. I was frightened.”

“Mmh,” he grunted in commiseration, “Don’t be frightened. Come on, in, before all the heat goes.” He lifted the covers for his sister to climb in. As she settled into him like a kitten it struck him just how small she still was, only a child, not quite ten. Darcy suddenly felt each of his nineteen years as if they were ten with the weariness that crippled him in place as she shuffled. Nineteen was still so unbearably young to be the primary caregiver of a growing child. His respect for young mothers grew every passing day. Darcy tucked his arm around Georgiana, wrapping her away from the harm and danger of the world. She would be a child still for several years yet if he had any influence. Nosing her hair, he murmured, “What upset you so?”

“I dreamed you were gone away and I was crying for you – but, but you didn’t come! And a man took me away and said I was his Name, but he lied, and I cried and cried and screamed and you didn’t come for me.”  
Darcy squeezed his sister close to his side as her voice cracked into sobs, unable to even imagine such an unthinkable situation. He would always come for his sister. Georgiana was the only family he had left, excepting Wickham, but he didn’t count. The man was a rake and a wastrel. 

How could he even begin to comfort such a deep, dark, terror? Who can comfort the blackest part of the soul?   
“Georgiana,” he hesitated, “I swear I will never allow that to happen. You hear me? Never, upon my soul, I will never leave you like that.” Just thinking about the nightmare made him break out in a cold sweat. Poor Georgiana must have been petrified – fear often brought tears to her eyes. She shuffled in his arms until she could meet his sorrowful face. She even managed a smile. “I know. Thank you.”

Darcy awoke slowly as light filtered through the yellow curtains draped around the bed. His housekeeper had several times attempted to change them to pale blue to better tie in to the room theme, but Darcy had every time rebuffed her with the comment that yellow light is closer to natural sunshine and he prefers it and he’ll be deeply distressed were it to be altered. The yellow stayed. Softly hummed notes of a tune he almost recognised floated along with the dust in the sunbeams. Georgiana was up, then, he observed. A glance at his right wrist revealed the ties on his nightgown to be perfect bows, a sure sign that Georgiana had been tracing the lines of his Name again. Nobody else even knew it had grown in, but his darling sister found such a great deal of contentment wondering who the ‘C.Bingley’ was that he had not the heart to make her stop the habit. It harmed nobody. As soon as she was old enough to understand he had sat her down and explained that everyone got a Name on their wrist, usually their dominant hand, and that the Name was that of whoever would be their best friend, and some people believed it was the person destined to save you, or whoever would affect your life most, but that most people in England believed the Name was if your romantic soulmate. Georgiana had scoffed at the idea of marrying someone simply because they had your Name. She was convinced that her brother’s Name was of his best friend. Tracing where he knew the loop of the y to swing, Darcy reflected that a friend would be a good thing to have. A best friend would be worth over a dozen close acquaintances, worth beyond their weight in gold.

Georgiana poked her head through the yellow bedcurtains. “Good morning, dear brother,” she said, “It’s a beautiful day! Perhaps we shall be able to ride this afternoon after all. Get up, I want to breakfast with you and I am very hungry. Don’t take long.” With that last warning thrown over her shoulder she closed the door and patterned down the hall to her room. Darcy smiled up at his canopy. She truly was the dearest girl a man could be blessed to have love him. Maybe he would find his soulmate this year after all. Whoever C Bingley was, they too were destined to be part of the family, because Darcy would accept nothing less than the best for his sister and that included the influence of the fates.

By time Bingley decided that he’d had enough of London (and seeing his best friend suffer through countless balls and lunches and soirées and galas for his sake) they’d been inseparable for two and a half years. If you’re pedantic like Darcy, that’s 30 months and two weeks and three days, but Georgiana had always just rolled her eyes at him and told him it made no difference whether he counts the days or the weeks or the months. (Of course it made a difference. It was about Charles, his best friend.) Tonight, Charles’ wrist was covered in a cuff which matched Darcy’s exactly in every aspect – as it should have, since they were a matching set – and Darcy has always given thanks that the styles of the times cover them up. He didn’t want Charles subjected to the ridicule of the ton over something as ridiculous as ‘FWDarcy’ cramped in the wrinkles of the inner wrist. Some people had been known never to cover their Name, to show them off as if saying “I am here, I am alive, I have hope.” 

Darcy never had the courage for that sort of thing. To display something so extremely personal, whilst in a crowd of money-seeking ton members, was several steps into the limelight too far for him. Darcy would have rather stayed in Pemberley and managed his estates than return for another London season – rather have returned to university, even – but even as he’d considered it he’d known he couldn’t leave Charles to wander around London alone. Charles’ bright smile shone in the hall, pure and honest in the swarm of falsified politeness and politicking. He radiated honesty and wonder and that childlike joy of living, and the sharks would swallow him up in a matter of hours. Rather run the discomfort of society than lose Charles to its hawk-like talons.

Later that night they sat drinking tea by the light of two candles in the kitchen. The old habit of Darcy’s had been rapidly adopted by Charles upon their moving into Darcy’s townhouse last season, leading to the current arrangement of sitting peacefully in the almost-dark to drink tea and perhaps on occasion compare stories of their day.

“It’s been a whole year since we took up this habit,” commented Bingley into his tea. Darcy grunted. “Can you imagine life without me, Darcy?”

“No.”

“Of course you can’t, I’m probably the best thing that ever happened to you. Including your sister,” said Charles. 

Silence stretched peacefully through the kitchen.   
“I’m fed up of London and cities, let’s go to the countryside at the end of the Season.”

Darcy sighed. This again. 

“You are coming?”

“Yeah, sure. Georgiana’s going to finishing school.”

“My sisters will be coming.”

Darcy slammed his mug on the table. “Absolutely not.”  
Much to his chagrin, Charles burst into laughter. “This isn’t funny. Stop laughing, Charles. I’ll leave you behind and go home. See how you handle Caroline and Louisa and their egos on your own, I’m not being facetious. Stop it, Charles!” Despite all best efforts, Charles had the most infectious giggle Darcy had ever encountered in his life, and it took no more than five minutes for him to start chuckling alongside his closest friend.

**Author's Note:**

> I take prompts.


End file.
